In April of 1869 a fire broke out at the 800 foot level of the Yellow Jacket Mine killing at least 35 miners
In April of 1869 a fire broke out at the 800 foot level of the Yellow Jacket Mine killing at least 35 miners
The American West had a mind to be heartless; a place, a time and a life that didn’t discriminate when it came to the taking of life.
In life they lived hard and in death they repose in the hard land.
A lucky miner won what was apparently the sum of a saloon keeper’s worldly possessions. As a result the saloon keeper reportedly opted for the next world.
Once you step through the gates of the cemetery you enter a different world. It’s a stark place populated with monuments colored in doleful shades of gray, many cracked, broken and in varying stages of disrepair.
In the midst of the gaiety of Quebec City’s Rue St. Jean sits a historic old cemetery in the shadow of an old Anglican Church.
Every September the crack of the bat and pop of ball on leather are replaced by the hawking of chili and the admiring murmurs of car aficionados; it’s the annual Chili Cook Off and Car Show.
No less than the President of the United States proclaimed, “Shaken, not stirred, will get you cold water with a dash of gin and dry vermouth. The reason you stir it with a special spoon is so not to chip the ice. James is ordering a weak martini and being snooty about it.”
On a winter night in the 1970’s, Ross Alley was a dark, dank place pocked with ruts and potholes filled with rainwater that reflected the few dim lights in its close confines. Here the bustle of Chinatown was muted
After years of war it was as if the people were taking a long needed break; a relaxing, leisurely exhale. For the time being the business of getting back to business could wait.
The Life in My Years 